Fear
by varietyofwords
Summary: In which Casey realizes "you can't fake it hard enough to please everyone." Inspired by Dashboard Confessional's "The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most." Casey/Cappie/Evan
1. Chapter 1

Title: Say

**Title:** Fear

**Chapter: **One

**Fandom:** _Greek_

**Words:** 1,773

**Rating:** PG-13

The party's been going on for almost four hours now, the dinner dishes whisked away long ago by the hotel staff dressed in matching, overly starched uniforms.

"Casey," Evan Chambers says lightly as he touches his fiancé's shoulder. "Why are you sitting here? Alone?"

For a split second, Casey smiles at him, thinks he legitimately wants to make sure she's okay, that she's not out of her element. But the small smile falters as Evan grabs her hand and pulls her up from her chair at a back corner table.

"A politician's wife has to know how to mingle," he reminds her lightly, jokingly, but Casey too tired to engage him in jokes and banter and softly mumbles an apology back at his unnecessary reminder.

"Mrs. de Rohan, Mrs. Flandreau, allow me to introduce my fiancé, Casey Cartwright," Evan tells the two ladies, who are mingling at a table close to the dance floor, as he pulls out the chair for Casey. Once she's sitting, he pushes it in and immediately calls out a name Casey recognizes.

"Senator Logan!"

"So, _Stacey_," the woman Casey assumes is Mrs. de Rohan begins, "you must be so proud of Evan, being in top five percent of his law class and all."

Casey wants to tell them that she's number three at Northwestern, that she took her midterm this morning before this god forsaken party for Evan's parents, who already hate her. But she doesn't, she won't. Instead, she nods her head and says something about how proud she is, how Evan's going to do great things.

And after listening to Mrs. de Rohan and Mrs. Flandreau tell her how great a catch she made, ask when's the wedding, and blubber on about things Casey's not remotely interested in, she excuses herself and makes her way to the exit of the ballroom. Slowly, so not to draw attention to herself, she opens the door and slips out, making sure the train of her dark blue dress doesn't get caught as the door shuts behind her.

It takes her nineteen steps to get to the door of the ladies' room but as she sees Mim Chambers heading into that particular restroom, Casey turns and heads back down the hallway, past the ballroom where the party is going on in an attempt to find a little peace and quiet.

Her attempt doesn't go unrewarded and Casey slips into the first bathroom she can find. There's a small room before the sinks and toilets that contains two oversized chairs and a floor length mirror. Her reflection in the mirror causes Casey to pause and examine her appearance.

"_What am I doing here?"_

--

Casey's not sure where she's running to only what she's running from, a life of following Evan's dreams, Evan's plans, and being Senator Chamber's little wife.

The heel on her shoe broke a long time ago and in Casey's haste to leave the Sofitel, she forgot her coat, a grave mistake to make in Chicago in February. She slows down, stops running, and crosses her arms over her chest to ward off the cold. As she passes people, Casey can't help but laugh at her appearance. Here she is hobbling down East Chestnut Street without a coat, her hair half fallen out of its complicated twist, and her shoe broken.

_Quite a sight_.

She should hail a cab and go back to her apartment or, at least, take the train to her parents' home in Glyn Ellen. But in her haste she foolishly forgot her purse and her cell phone, so she can't even call her parents to come get her.

And, she tells herself, if she's running away, going to a place where Evan would look wouldn't be very smart.

Except, she has no money for a cab or a trip on the EL or a hotel room.

"Stupid. Stupid," Casey tells herself as she brushes past people on the sidewalk. "Stupid!"

People are looking at her now, so Casey turns to the large picture window to her right and hopes the pedestrians will think she was talking about what is in the window.

However, as soon as she looks at the item in the window, her breath catches in her throat.

It's a photograph.

_Of her_.

Casey furrows her eyebrows, crinkles her face in confusion as she tries to figure out exactly why a photo of her is hanging in this window display.

It's quite a few years old and Casey can't place exactly where it was taken but the smile on her face is one she hasn't seen in a while, one she hasn't seen since she left Cyprus-Rhodes University.

The sign hanging in the corner catches her eye and Casey bends down, pressing her forehead against the class, to get a better look.

"The Sweetheart," Casey mumbles, reading the words. "Copyright. Chevron Caplan. All rights reserved."

At first she doesn't recognize the name but a quick glance at the sign to the left of the photograph fills in her immediately.

"Cappie," she mumbles, her eyes closed, as she pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger.

--

"We're going to be closing in twenty minutes," the curt, young brunette manning the front desk of Movement Gallery tells Casey as she hands her a brochure.

"Okay," Casey mumbles back, slightly surprised that the gallery is free. The brochure hangs uselessly by her side as she unable to read about Cappie's life.

Rusty had tried to tell her how well Cappie was doing so many times but Casey had always shut him down. His relationship with Rebecca spanned into January of his senior year and her subsequent reconciliation with Evan in November of senior year effectively crushed any chance of reconciliation between the two of him.

And by the time he finally found the words to profess what he had been feeling since freshman year, Evan had already lavaliered, pinned, and proposed to her. To which Rusty replied that they were moving too fast but Casey just told him he didn't understand, that she couldn't go back to the way things were between her and Cappie freshman year.

So when the time came the next morning to say her final goodbyes, she kissed Cappie on the cheek and whispered in her ear what he had mumbled her ear during their first time.

_Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours._

It only took forty minutes for Rusty to call and say what she did was inexcusable. It only took five minutes for Casey to cut Rusty out of her life, calling only to wish him a happy birthday and keeping socialization to family events only.

And now here she is, wandering around a gallery of her ex-boyfriend's photographs wondering _what if_.

The staff of the gallery are cleaning up and Casey maneuvers around tables with picked over trays of food and people carrying empty champagne flukes back to the small kitchen for washing.

As far as Casey can tell, there aren't anymore photos of herself hanging in the gallery and as she passes one of her brother, she runs her finger along the edge of the frame.

"Please don't touch the photographs," the brunette from the front desk tells her and Casey mumbles back an apology.

The final photo on this wall is one of a little girl holding out a stick of wood towards the photographer.

_Cappie_, she reminds herself as the realization that this little girl might be Cappie's daughter hits her. Her breathing increases as she takes a step backwards, away from the photograph, her eyes frantically trying to find the title card in the corner.

"The Littlest Beaver," Casey reads aloud.

"Mr. Caplan," the brunette from before greets and Casey freezes.

"Cappie, Claire. _Cappie_," Cappie reminds her lightly. "Did we have a good night?"

"Yep, Annie sold another photograph," Claire replies and Cappie nods his head like he's paying attention. However, his gaze is currently fixated on the blonde admiring his photograph of Emma.

"How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" He asks her as he comes to stand next to her. Her breath catches in her throat as she struggles to figure out what to say. Her silence throws him for a loop and he turns to get a better look at her face.

"Casey?" He asks.

"Hi, Cap," she replies as she turns to face him.

"You look…" he trails off as his eyes take in her mudded dress, her hair falling out from its twist, and from the way she's standing, he would bet that her shoe's broken.

"Like shit," she fills in for him, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Your words, not mine," he says with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

She opens her mouth to response but shuts it when nothing comes out, her brain racing for an answer.

"Hey, are you okay?" Cappie asks her, placing his hand on her arm.

"Where do you get off having a photo of me in the window?" She seethes and he jerks his body back.

"Creative license," he replies with a shrug.

"Well, I want it," she replies, her gaze matching his.

"Nope. Not for sale," he tells her as he jams his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

"How's Evanesance?" He asks, gesturing to the ring on her finger and Casey moves her other hand over it.

"Fine," she mumbles back and he raises an eyebrow but doesn't verbally question her reply.

"Are you okay, Casey?"

"Yes," she snaps back before dropping her voice an octave. "_No_."

"Is there something I can help you with?" Cappie asks softly as he tentatively touches her arm.

"No," she replies nodding her head up and down like she did five years ago during that pool game.

"Ma'm," Claire interrupts. "We're closed now."

"Okay," Casey replies softly and turns back to Cappie. "I'll see you around."

--

She's made it to the next store's door by the time he catches up to her, his hand on her arm stopping her dead in her tracks.

"Case, at least let me take you home," he tells her and Casey gives him a small smile.

"I can't," she replies.

"Sure you can. Just get in the cab with me," he says and Casey shakes her head back and forth.

"I can't. I can't go back there."

"Go back where, Casey?"

"My apartment. The party. _My life_," she tells him and concern dances across his face.

"Okay, well, come back to my apartment. Just until you figure out where you _can _go."


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Say

**Title:** Fear

**Chapter: **Two

**Fandom:** _Greek_

**Words:** 1,055

**Rating:** PG-13

Cappie's making Spiderman macaroni and cheese with chopped up hot dogs in it. It's his comfort food, second only to pie. But he hasn't had pie in a long time, not since his literature class' midterm junior year back at CRU, and he doesn't think pie would be appropriate right now.

Casey's taking a shower, the sound of the water hitting the tub are easily herd throughout the apartment and Cappie kind of wished he had picked up his apartment before he left for the gallery.

It's not dirty per se, just not clean either. There are clothes, clean or dirty, he asks himself mentally, thrown across the couch and he's sure there are more in the cramped bedroom. And a couple of dirty dishes in the sink.

Then again, the apartment's nothing special. Just a one bedroom apartment that has a really great view of Lake Michigan and plenty of wall space to show off his photographs. And there's that exposed brick wall that he loves so much.

Yet, for the first time, from where he stands in the kitchen, Cappie realizes how bare and sparsely furnished it really is, just two stools under the kitchen counter, a comfortable couch, a water stained coffee table, and flat screen television, his only big purchase besides his camera equipment, on a TV stand. And the lava lamp Beaver gave him as a housewarming present because his mother told him he had to bring a gift for Cappie's "housewarming party." Cappie didn't have a "housewarming party."

It's certainly no brownstone in New Haven, Connecticut but Cappie likes it here. It's comfortable.

It's _him_.

And while Wade and Beaver traps women in and out of their apartment every night like its Union Station or the entrance to Fenway Park, Cappie gets to have a little piece and quiet, something he hasn't had since BC.

Before college.

Before Casey.

"Cappie," a voice from the doorway to his bedroom calls and Cappie looks from where he stands in front of the sink. He pauses, the pot of cooked macaroni half dumped into the strainer waiting the sink in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. His eyes slide down the outline of Casey's body and he can't help but think that she looks really good clad only in a towel, her wet stringy hair hanging loosely around her shoulders.

"Uh, yeah?" Cappie asks realizing where he is and why she's here.

"Do you…" she pauses as she bits her lip, unsure of what to say.

"I need something to wear," she confesses as blush settles on her cheeks.

"Uh, sure," Cappie replies with a smile as he places the pot back on the stove. He hesitates as he slips past into his bedroom, resolving to keep his hand to himself not matter how much self control it takes. She's Evan's, he repeats to himself over and over again as he yanks open the top drawer of his dresser. Pulling out a pair of dark maroon boxers, he opens the second draw in the chest and pulls out his favorite gray t-shirt. Pairing them together, he hands the bundle to her and she grabs them as the towel slips a little lower giving him a better shot of the beginning of her cleavage.

Yanking the towel up, she blushes a deeper shade of red and he can't help but laugh. She glares at him, so he stops as she backs into the bathroom, his clothes in hand.

--

He doesn't want to eat at the kitchen counter, so he places the two bowls of macaroni and cheese on the coffee table and heads back to the kitchen to get them both something to drink.

"Hey," he greets her as she steps out his bedroom. Her right hand is holding her hair back into a pony tail.

"Hey," Casey replies. "Do you have a pony tail band?"

"No, sorry," Cappie replies shaking his head as he opens the door to the refrigerator. "Coke? Root beer?"

"Diet?" Casey asks as she runs her fingers through her wet, stringy hair.

"No, sorry," he repeats with a smile and Casey gives him a fleeting smile in response.

"Coke, please," Casey tells him and he grabs two cans of Coca-Cola out of the back corner of his fridge. He shuts the door and heads over the couch where she's already sitting and hands her one of the cans.

He flips on the television and settles back into the couch as the sounds of _Frasier_ fills the apartment. They're both silent as they eat their late dinner or, more accurately, early breakfast. He's leaning against the couch; she's perched on the edge, too afraid to get close to him.

--

It only takes them half an episode of _Frasier_ to finish the macaroni and cheese off.

"Why don't you take my bed," Cappie offers as he sets his bowl on the coffee table.

"And what about you?" Casey asks, turning her attention away from Dr. Frasier Crane and to him.

"I'll sleep out here on the…" Cappie trails off as he realizes that Casey is holding back a laugh. "What's so funny?"

"You…" she trails off as the laughter bubbles over and Cappie furrows his eyebrows at her. "You…you have some…"

"What?" Cappie asks again as he looks down at his clothing and Casey's laughter subsides.

"You have some cheese on your chin," she tells him and Cappie reaches up to rub it away, slightly embarrassed by his sloppiness. So much for a good impression, he thinks to himself. "And some on your nose."

"Great," Cappie mumbles as he reaches up to rub his nose. "Did I get it?"

"Here," Casey says reaching up to touch his chin. "Let me get it."

Her thumb rubs the side of his chin, her fingers cupping it from underneath. The heat of her fingers mix with the heat of his skin and Cappie tries with all his might to stifle the groan that so desperately wants to escape. Trailing, her fingers slide down his neck and pause at his collarbone, right next to his Adam's apple.

"You're playing with fire," Cappie mumbles but his warning doesn't faze her.

"Casey," he warns again but Casey doesn't heed his warning. Instead, she leans in and captures his lips in hers.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Say

**Title:** Fear

**Chapter: **Three

**Fandom:** _Greek_

**Words:** 1,213

**Rating:** PG-13

Natural light from the windows in his bedroom stream through the window panes, leaving light and dark spots on the comforter covering the lower half of his body and Cappie groans at the beautiful day the universe has dealt him.

A part of him hopes that last night was just a dream but combined smell of sex and her perfume on his sheets reminds him it's not and when his hand comes in contact with the empty space beside him, he knows that tonight ended the same way it did all those years ago. At least this time he didn't have to listen to the sounds of her escape and hear her tell him this was just a fond trip down memory lane never to be repeated again.

With one eye open, he squints to read the time on the digital clock on the nightstand. Eleven twenty-three. He has an hour until his photo shoot, an hour to nurse his broken heart with his two best friends, Clorox and Lysol. If he didn't have the photo shoot this morning, he'd take the EL to Chicago's red light district and nurse his broken heart with lap dances and all he can drink alcohol.

But he does, so he throws back the covers and picks up his discarded boxers from last night. Slipping them on, he rubs the sleep out of his eyes and shuffles out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

It's the smell that encourages him to open his eyes completely and he can feel his chest swell with hope.

Behind the counter, Casey's sliding an omelet out of the skillet and on to a plate sitting on the overhanging counter.

"Case…" he trails off and she smiles at him.

"I was wondering when you were going to get up. You still like yours with ham, cheese, and red peppers, right?" She asks him as she opens the packet of bacon.

"Yeah," he tells her with a half smile as he wonders if this is just a figment of his imagination. "What…what are you doing her, Casey?"

She pauses and sets the tongs down beside the stove before turning to face him.

"Do you…" she trails off and swallows the lump in her throat. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," he is quick to say and a look of relief washes over her and they both stand their awkwardly.

"I…I have a photo shoot, today," he tells her as he sits down in front of the omelet she made him and she places the bacon in front of him.

"I should go, then," she tells him and she makes her way out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom before he reaches out and grabs her arm. She turns her head to look at him, her blond hair blocking his view of her face, so he reaches up and pushes it out of the way.

"Come with me," he tells her and she bites her lip.

"I don't have anything to wear."

--

The boutique around the corner did nothing for his wallet except make it cringe but Casey looks gorgeous in a simple pair of blue jeans, brown flats, a brown shirt, and a light pink rain coat shielding her from the wintery winds and rain.

He was afraid she'd be bored during the photo shoot in downtown Chicago but every time he glanced over at her, her eyes were wide in something that looked distinctly like amazement. That smile, that simple look made his pulse race. And when he thought the crew around him wasn't looking, he turned the camera to capture her likeness.

It was well past four by the time the shoot wrapped, so on the way to the EL station, he purchased a giant, overly salted pretzel and a coke to make up for the lack of lunch.

"Let's walk along the lake," Casey says as he jams his change back into his wallet.

"Case, it's going to be freezing cold."

"I know," she replies with a smile. "But it'll be fun."

"Okay," he says relenting as he reaches over, breaks off a chunk of the pretzel, and pops it into his mouth. "So, law school, huh?"

"Yeah," she mumbles back and he takes this as a sign she doesn't want to talk about it. They keep walking down the path along the lake front, past the serious joggers and bicyclists who are still out running and riding despite the wind, neither of them breeching the silence between them until curiosity gets the best of him.

"Case, what are you doing here?" She avoids his gaze and he searches for hers even harder as she struggles to find an answer, struggles to find the right thing to say.

"The same thing you're doing," she replies and he's not sure if she's being literal or if she's being figurative, so he drops the question and they continue walking as she laces her fingers into his, catching him off guard.

She's Evan's, he tells himself but he fights off the urge to pull away from her and instead fiddles one handedly with his blue camera bag. Pulling out his camera, he catches her completely off guard and she laughs as the shutter clicks.

--

It's ten at night and she can't fall asleep, despite how much her body needs it. Her mind is racing, consumed with thoughts and fears and worries. Pulling away from him, she freezes when she hears him mumble something that sounded distinctively like Casey. She waits for him to fall back into a deep sleep before disentangling their legs from one another and slides out of bed, wrapping the sheet around her naked form. Careful not to wake him, she slowly opens the door to his bedroom and slides out into the moonlit living room. She squints in the dark trying to find the remote to the television, figuring a little late night television would put her right to sleep.

The screen flickers before lighting up completely and Casey immediately flips off the ESPN sports channel. But as she hits the news channels, a photo of her and Evan paused on the screen makes her stop.

"Ms. Cartwright's fiancée, Evan Chambers, reported her missing at two o'clock today," the voice over tells her before they flip to live feed of him in front of a police station. Standing around him are her parents, his parents, and Rusty.

"Please, if you have anything information about Casey's disappearance, please call. I'm offering a ten thousand dollar reward for her safe return and any information that leads to her return. I just want her home, safe and sound. And, Casey, if you're watching this, I love you. So much."

Casey casts a glance down at her engagement ring and with out hesitation, pulls it off and throws it across the room. It lands with a thud right in front of the television, right in front of a frozen picture of her and Evan on the screen. Standing up, Casey sighs, flips off the television, and makes her way back to Cappie's bedroom. Dropping the sheet on the floor, she crawls back into bed and molds herself into his body.

"This is home," she mumbles into his chest.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Say

**Title:** Fear

**Chapter: **Four

**Fandom:** _Greek_

**Words:** 1,151

**Rating:** PG-13

It's the early morning sex that was something special between him and her. With the sun rising and accenting the golden color of her hair, it gave Casey almost an angel, haloed look.

And early morning sex is slow. Not driven so much by passion and energy but rather exploration and, dare he say, love.

"Mine," he mumbles in the crook of her neck before he groans as she arches her back, pushing herself against him even more. Closing his eyes, he plants kisses against her salty skin slowly waiting for that all familiar moan to escape her lips.

With a sickening thud, the door to bedroom flies open and Cappie turns his head, pulling Casey closer to him protectively in the process. Through a sex-filled haze, Cappie can make out the forms of men dressed in blue, guns drawn.

"Wha…Wha…" Casey mumbles into his chest, barely able to see over his shoulder.

"Chicago PD," one of the intruders booms and before Cappie can react, two of them pull him off…_out_ of Casey and on to the floor. Without concern for his naked appearance, they roll him over and slap on handcuffs. The cool metal digs into his flesh as Cappie's mind races to process what's happening.

"M'am, are you okay?" One asks Casey as she clutches a sheet to her chest and nods her head, bewilderment dancing across her face.

"What…what's going on?"

"It's okay, m'am," another man, this one dressed in a suit and tie, addresses her. "You're safe."

"Safe?" Casey asks as they roughly jerk Cappie up and haul him into the other room. A different office follows behind with a pair of Cappie's boxers and his discarded t-shirt in hand.

"Ms. Cartwright," a female office in black pants, a black jacket, and a red shirt underneath says to Casey softly. "It'll be okay. You're safe now."

--

Cappie's not sure how long he's been sitting in this room but based on the number of Law _& Order_ episodes he unfortunately saw while sharing a room with Evan freshman year, he'd bet his camera that there are people behind that one-way window watching he.

He has no idea what he's doing here. Only that he knows is that he was handcuffed, hauled out of him home wearing boxers only, and traipsed past camera crews, reporters, and on-lookers standing in front of his apartment building. And that they kept telling Casey she's safe over and over.

The door clicks open and a rush of hot air smacks him in the face making him wonder if it's technically torture to put a man in a room that's about forty-seven degrees.

"So, _Cappie_," the male, Cappie figures he's a detective, says to him, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Is Casey okay?" Cappie asks because he can't help himself.

"Now that's she's away from _you_," the female replies as she takes a seat at the metal table across from him.

"I'd never hurt Casey," Cappie assures them but they both look at dubiously.

"Sure," the guy replies. "That's why you abducted her and raped her, as far as we can tell, repeatedly."

Cappie can add something else to things he knows. That he's in _deep shit_. Which basically means he needs a lawyer.

_Now_.

"I'd like a lawyer," Cappie says with a shaky voice.

"If you didn't hurt her," the woman begins, "then why are you lawyering up? Innocent guys don't need a lawyer."

--

"Casey," Evan mumbles as she wraps his arms around his fiancée. The nurse and doctor both smile at Evan's gesture, at his obvious love for his fiancée.

"Evan," Casey whispers back still in shock at this morning's events. The nurse and doctor continue their monotonous work as Evan blabbers on about things Casey's not paying attention to. When they brought her here, Sarah, the female detective, stayed with her while the doctor completed a rape kit on her, saying the whole time over Casey's refusal that it's standard procedure to make sure that the man who raped her would go away for a long time.

And Casey had tried with all of her might to get them to understand that Cappie would never hurt a hair on her head, that she had asked to go with him but Sarah just mumbled something about Stockholm Syndrome and told her that this nightmare would be over soon enough.

If this is a nightmare, Casey had told her herself, she would love to see what a dream looked like.

--

Cappie's lawyer had told him not to say anything but even since freshman year, he's live by a different philosophy.

_The truth will set you free_.

"So let me get this straight," Craig the male detective says at the end of Cappie laying the truth out for them. "You and Casey dated in college but she broke up with you and started going out her fiancée. And then you saw her roaming the streets of Chicago alone. _Vulnerable_. So you took back to your apartment and repeatedly raped her. Sounds like a confession to me."

"No," Cappie snaps. "I'd never hurt Casey. _Never_."

--

Evan's Lexus stops in front of her apartment, and even though it's a no parking zone, he throws the car into park and hops out to help her get out of the car. It's a short ride up the elevator and a quick walk to Casey's apartment but for her it feels like a lifetime.

Her roommate isn't there and Casey thinks it's just a well. Sharing a room hasn't been the same experience as sharing one with Ashleigh, which was so much fun that Casey didn't even move out for her own room during her first full year as president of Zeta Beta Zeta.

"I'm going to order us some food, 'kay?" Evan asks but Casey doesn't even have time to say she's not hungry before Evan has pulled out his cell phone and is connected to some authentic Chinese food take-away in Chicago's Chinatown.

Glancing around her disheveled apartment, thanks to her roommate, Casey picks up the phone and immediately pushes the numbers for directory assistance.

"Hi, I need the number for a Chevron Caplan. Chicago," Casey says softly.

"One moment, please," the operator replies as Evan walks back into the living room from Casey's bedroom.

"Who are you on the phone with?" He asks her, a touch of concern in his voice.

"Information," Casey mumbles back before turning her attention back to the phone. "Thank you."

The phone on the other end rings twice before Evan asks her again who she's calling.

"I need to make sure Cap's okay," she replies and without any warning, Evan yanks the phone out of hand.

"Casey, he's in jail," Evan snaps.

"Wha…what?" Casey asks her voice cracking.

"He raped you. And I plan to make sure he is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."


End file.
